Sculptures
by BrazenMonkey
Summary: A collection of drabbles that never made it into a real shortcut, tasertricks of course.
1. That Last Kiss I'll Cherish

**A/N: Everytime I start writing, there are loads of ideas, images, plots ghosting around in my head. Some of them need to be left aside, to be cut off because otherwise I would end up in a total mess. So, like a sculptor I chop off the pieces of marble from my sculpture that I don't need and that don't fit. But what happens to those little chunks of idea I cut away from the finished statue of story?  
This is the collection of ideas that never made a whole shortcut, simply drabbles, plots that were chopped off but still not thrown away.** **Feel free to read, favourite, follow and of course to review.**

* * *

It had been Jane's idea. Jane, who always saw and always knew everything, who probably had known where Darcy's heart had belonged all along.

How did you know?, Darcy had asked. It takes one to know one, Jane had answered.

The encouraging nod Jane gives her is full of knowledge and of understanding. Darcy knows she only has little time. But it will suffice. It has to.

The security doors willingly open to the clearance of Jane's identification and Darcy slips into the high security wing, her hand desperately clutching the little piece of plastic that grants her access.

"Be quick.", Jane whispers and squeezes her hand one last time before retreating, leaving Darcy to pass the last door by herself.

Out of all the things she had expected to see, this isn't the worst. But it is still hard to bear. He is sitting on a bench, no pillow or blanket to make his stay more comfortable – why would they grant a convicted villain any comfort? The room is lit only by a cold neon tube, the bright light washing out every colour. _He looks so lost, _Darcy thinks. _So alone._

The door closes with a little click. Loki's head springs up and a little sound of surprise escapes Darcy's full lips. A metal gag covers almost half of his face, only his high cheek-bones, his sharp nose and his expressive eyes free to be seen. His elegant hands are stuck in what appears to be two cuffs bound together by a long wire. His eyes lock with hers as the sight of him makes her heart stutter.

He doesn't say a thing, just stares. Most people say he is heard to read, giving away so little of his emotions. But Darcy knows better. His eyes are like an open book, revealing every single thing his features might try to hide – if you know how to read them.

With shy steps, she approaches him and takes seat next to the soundless god. She knows he doesn't want her here, hates to have her see him weak and powerless.

"I know you told me not to come.", Darcy says quietly. He only blinks but she takes it as a confirmation. "But I just had to."

She swallows and gathers her courage. Her hand rises and strokes the back of his hand where the skin is still uncovered. He is cold as ice, as usual, his skin cool to her touch. His eyes dart to her fingers, then back on her face. He turns his hand and their fingers intertwine.

She looks at him, awaiting his voice in her head, the mental projection he has used so often. But all there is is silence.

"Why can't I hear you in my head?", she voices her wonder, only to see him rolling his eyes in response. He lifts his chained hands and lets them drop to his lap again.

"They bind your magic.", she mutters, more to herself and even though his mouth is covered, she can practically hear his annoyed sigh.

A sad chuckle tumbles from her lips. "You know, I might come to like this, this tamed you. You are far easier to handle like this.", she teases, trying to lighten the mood. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and indignation practically drips from his features. Darcy wants to make a joke, to banter him about his bad temper. But then her heart clenches. How long will this temper be taken away from her?

"Jane told me they are going to take you away, tomorrow." Her voice is merely a whisper and her hand squeezes his tightly, desperately clinging to the little bit of him she still has. He returns it, giving her her answer.

The words tickle her tongue, waiting for her to ask the one question she wants to ask, to find out what she needs to know. "How long will you be gone?"

Loki just looks at her, his face oddly calm and yet she sees the turmoil mirroring in the depths of his eyes. _He doesn't know_, she realizes. His confidence is just an act. He is as much at loss as she is, and maybe even as afraid. Who knew what they'd do to him? The thought of his punishment stirs her worries again and suddenly her view is clouded by tears dwelling in the corners of her eyes. From what she has learned so far, Odin is no-one to be trifled with.

Cool fingers wipe away the salty trails on her cheeks and his hand cups her face. Green melts into blue and Darcy knows she doesn't care. She lets go of his hand only to dig her fingers deep into his silky hair, holding him so close their foreheads meet.

"It doesn't matter. I will be here. I have you in my heart until we meet again." Her voice cracks but she could care less. The dark inner circles of his eyes seem to melt and even without his magic she knows what he wants to say.

"Darcy?" Jane whispers through the ajar door.

"I'm coming!", she impatiently responds and turns her attention to the man in front of her. Without a warning, Loki's suave act is washed away and replaced by passion as his arms pull her to his chest, crushing her with ferocity until she finds it hard to breathe. His nose nuzzles into her hair and Darcy wills her head to save the memory of how it feels to lie in his arms, of how the violet veins shine through the delicate skin of his neck, of how he smells – of sage, mint, earth, all mingled into his own personal fragrance – of everything that is him. She places a shaky kiss on his thrumming pulse and Loki's muscles tense in response.

It takes all her power to free herself from his grasp, to get up, to find the door through the haze of tears and to keep herself from looking back as she leaves his cell. Jane slings her arm around her shoulders and drags her out of the building, unseen by the guards back into her van.

As Darcy drops back into the seat, the tears are dried. All she has to do now is wait. And cherish each single memory until she can be in his arms again.


	2. Waiting For You

**Thank you all so much for your kind words and reviews and follows and favourites or even took the time to simply browse!  
I proudly present the second drabble to you, I hope you'll enjoy!**

* * *

The grand hall is crowded, much more filled than any other day of the year. The realm eternal celebrates the wedding of the youngest offspring of Odin and offers all its glory and glamour to those invited. Accompanied by the applaud of the guests, the newly wed couple finishes its first dance and they part for a short moment, only to find themselves new partners to dance and to chat.

She knows he's walking straight towards her. Her eyes glide down her silken dress, in the shade of freshly cut fir needles, inappropriately low-cut on her back, slits up to her thighs, yet it is long enough for the hem to touch the marble floor. Many have complimented her on it, the colour suited her, they said. But only he knows who she is wearing it for.

"May I ask the lady to do me the honour of a dance?", Loki asks gallantly, one hand behind his back, the other stretched out towards her.

"You may, my Prince.", Darcy replies and as their hands touch, a searing heat sinks into her skin.

He takes her into his arms, his grip firm on her back, holding her by the hand as they spin to the sweet music of the orchestra.

"I was not entirely sure you would come.", he says, his voice oddly detached.

Darcy looks over his shoulder, ignoring the way his eyes try to drill into her gaze. "How could I miss such a splendid celebration? After all, two of my closest friends are now happily married." She sounds far more bitter than she allows herself as she answers his glance. "I congratulate you and Sif on your happy union."

His Adam's apple dances in his throat and his arched brows furrow. His eyes dart to the left and to the right and he lowers his voice as he says: "You know I did not choose this. Nor did she."

Darcy swallows and her steps change from light to heavy. "But you did not oppose, either. And why would you, after all? Sif longs for the one brother who happens to be taken and instead gets the other who, too, is going to be a king one day. And you have found yourself a strong, beautiful queen.", she hisses.

Her words aim to hurt and do not miss their target. His temples twitch at her words and his hand clutches hers tightly. Without a warning he draws her closer to his chest and the hand on her back secures her in his arms. "You know neither Sif nor I wanted this. And you out of all should know where my heart truly lies."

They are now dancing closer to the slowing rhythm of the music and Darcy has to stretch her neck to look into his eyes. But she wouldn't want to look any other way.

"And now?", she whispers brokenly. "What am I supposed to do now? Am I supposed to find comfort in your avowal of love? To be relieved because I know you are trapped in a political marriage with someone who doesn't want you? To know you are lost to me for all eternity?" Tears find their way out of her eyes and she angrily lowers her gaze. She doesn't want him to see her cry, to see her weep for him.

He presses his head against hers, his cheek resting against her temple and his lips streak the shell of her ear and for one moment, there is no-one else in the room but them. "Don't you ever again think that I am lost to you. Do you hear me?" His tone is full of wrath and Darcy knows he is not angry with her but with his fate that he has to accept. "I am yours as much as you are mine, no matter who might be by my side. I will always want _you._" His words are delicious, soothing the bitter sting of jealousy and rejection she has felt.

But it is not enough. "I don't want to be your mistress, your affair, whatever. I don't want stolen looks, hidden kisses. Holding your hand should not be forbidden nor should I have to hide how much I _burn _ for you." She pulls back her head and her sad eyes lock with his.

Loki shakes his head. "I know you don't. And I would never ask you to." But in his look, she can see he desperately wants to.

"I would wait for you until the end of days, to be your beloved. I want you fully, truly, utterly. And I know I can not have it that way." With a heavy heart, she lets go of his hands and frees herself from his grasp. His hands follow her like a magnet follows another and sorrow deeply sinks into his traits. "There will never be anyone else for me until the very day of my death. But as long as you are bound to her, _we _can not be."

With these words, Darcy turns around and rushes to the door of the hall, the sound of the rustling fabric of her gown her only company.

* * *

The next day a present is sent to her, no sender is noted on the package. With wonder, Darcy takes it out of the hand of the messenger and inside the safe walls of her home, she unwraps the paper the box is folded in. Because of the shimmering golden light the gift emits, she knows exactly what has been sent to her. One of Iðunn's apples, the gift of immortality, gently placed on an emerald cushion, in the same shade of her dress of last night. A little note is placed inside the box, next to the shimmery fruit and her heart skips a beat when she recognizes the elegant handwriting.

_To make sure you will still be there when the end of days has come.  
One day, your waiting shall be over._

No signature is needed for Darcy knows who has sent her this. She presses the note to her heart and takes a deep breath. _One day, your waiting shall be over. _She can hardly wait for this day to come.


	3. Restless night

**A/N: The amount of love you guys have given me for this is simply wonderful! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, followed, even read, thank you so much!**

**A special thank you goes to iamnumbernine, who posted a piece of fanart on her tumblr called 'resentingthestatusquo' - not only does she have a follow-worthy page which you definitely need to check out but also created a great piece of art to another story of mine, the fifth chapter of 'Occupy Your Mind' called 'Fire and Ice'. I just couldn't wait for any longer to thank her for putting so much effort in this wonderful piece, which might seem unusal at first but is definitely to my taste!  
Anyway, thank you so so much, this chapter is dedicated to you, dear!**

**Soundtrack: 'Thees Uhlmann - Römer am Ende Roms', a German song. Too beautiful. Just get carried away by the sound of it, even if you don't speak German. Simply amazing.  
**

* * *

The silent cry comes from the nursery, without a shadow of a doubt Frida has trouble sleeping again. With a sigh, Darcy checks the clock on her night stand. Only a couple of minutes past midnight. If her daughter was going to continue her habit of troublesome sleep, this night would not leave her with too much rest.

Wrapped in a cozy bathrobe, Darcy moves to cross the short distance between her bedroom and her daughter's room, her feet scuffling with drowsiness.

"Gorgeous, can't you give your mom a little bit of peace?", she mumbles as she enters the nursery. The sight chokes her heart for the brink of a second. A tall figure lurks in front of the crib, the back turned towards the door, the pale moonlight illuminating the edges of the stranger's body. But it only takes Darcy a second to realize that he is no stranger, no intruder who means harm. At least she hopes so.

Her hand absentmindedly flicks the switch of the little lamp and in the shady light, her assumption is proven right.

"Looks like we have a fugitive in our home, Frida.", Darcy says.

The dark figure turns around to look at her, the pale face in contrast to the silky black hair. Light green eyes stare at her, the thin lips pressed together in a thoughtful expression. Darcy approaches him, her steps far more steady than her heartbeat which runs amok and drums against her ribs. She takes place next to him and looks down on her little daughter, half-asleep and blissfully unaware of the tense atmosphere.

Loki's hand moves and for one second Darcy dares to hope that he might want to say hello to the little baby. But instead, he slicks back his fine hair and keeps on staring wordlessly.

_He has to know._, Darcy thinks. _Surely he has to know._

For a moment both of them just watch the little girl, how her mouth forms a perfect pink 'O' with a yawn and how, with a little whimper, she clenches her tiny fists and closes her beautiful emerald eyes. Then, for the first time, Loki raises his voice.

"How old is... she?" He sounds hoarse, tired and maybe even a little bit astounded. On the inside, Darcy knows exactly he did the math. He has seen his eyes in the baby's face, the fine down of black hair on the back of her head. There is no doubt.

"She's five months, now", Darcy answers, still not looking into his eyes. But then again, she doesn't need to. His voice discloses every single thing he feels, and she has learnt long time ago how to read him.

There is a pregnant silence again. "I didn't know.", Loki states.

Darcy lets out a sad chuckle. "How could you? Hell, I didn't even know when you..." She carefully chooses her words, the bitter sting of pain still clings to the memories of his capture. "When you left. But she is yours." She clears her throat. Will he leave again? Her hands grip the edge of the crib and she sighs internally. He deserves to know.

"She turned blue." Her voice is merely a whisper. "Right after she was born." Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Loki's head shoot up and how he turns to face her. But she can not look into his eyes. Not yet. "The doctors said something about lack of oxygen, how she might have been stuck and might not have been able to breathe. I was scared to death, I thought she was hurt. But then, I saw her eyes." Darcy lays a loving glance on her daughter. "Red like rubies. And her skin was not purplish blue. It was deep navy." She remembers, distinctly, how the final wave of certainty had flooded her. And how she had immediately loved her child as much as she had loved its father. She has never cared about the Jotunn thing. Blue, pink, white, black, where is the difference?

"Do they know?", Loki asks, still facing her. He doesn't need to define who he is talking about.

"I told no-one. I told them I was sure I'd never see her father again – which I thought at that point." She stretches out a hand and pulls the soft blanket Frida is wrapped in a little higher. "They asked me where I took the name from. I told them I named her after Frida Kahlo, a famous and wonderful painter, a proud and strong woman." A little smile twists the sides of her mouth. "Call it my little gift of protection to her." The smile vanishes. "Thor suspects, I am sure. But he never brought it up. Not once." The gratitude she feels towards Loki's brother sinks into her words.

Loki lets out an angry huff. "Protection, from what? Where you ashamed to admit she was the daughter of a convicted villain, of a scary monster? Did you try to keep from her the burden of her true heritage?!"

The fear of facing him is washed away and replaced by indignation. Her head snaps around and she shoots him a violently mean look. "You should know me better than that.", she hisses. "I _protected_ her from SHIELD. Have a guess what would have happened if they found out you had a daughter on earth. I was afraid they'd take her, use her." Her voice cracks and in his eyes, even though he tries to hide, she sees the shame. Of course he knows her better than that. But sometimes it is hard to abandon old habits. And this particular habit of him was deeply rooted.

He swallows and his traits soften. It surprises her how little he has changed and yet how outlandish he looks to her. So tired. God knows what punishment he had to face.

"I am... sorry to have questioned your intentions.", he says, his words stiff with formality but heart-felt nevertheless. "I know you better than that." He looks into her eyes and suddenly it feels like he hasn't been gone over a year. Despite all the things he has done, despite all the mistakes he has made, he is still the one that makes Darcy's heart race, the drumming noise of its beats pounding in her ears.

She has to swallow and her mouth is dry. It shouldn't be so awkward to talk to him, to the father of her daughter, to the man she has loved, the man she still loves?

"I hope you like her name.", she whispers timidly, all the strength of a mother that has flooded her seconds ago now replaced by the shyness of a young girl.

He grins his signature grin. "I do. It bears the hope of peace." Darcy smiles in response and drops her head to hide her glowing cheeks. _Get a grip, _she commands herself. Both their hands are firmly placed on the crib, it would only take an inch, a little movement of his or her hand to cross the distance...

"So, how long have you been back?", she says, trying to hide her curiosity – in vain.

Loki's gaze rests on her and he sighs. "Since I finished my stay in Asgard. One year in silence, that was what Odin wanted me to endure, presented to the people of Asgard like an attraction, free to be stared at and mocked. And I served my punishment. So now I am free and this is my first night on Midgard." She tries to beat the satisfaction she feels into submission, in vain again. _His first night back and he chooses to come to you_, the little voice in her head lilts.

"How long will you stay?" The words are out before Darcy can hold them back and again she lowers her head and internally wants to slap her neck. She doesn't want him to see how much she wishes him to stay, not only for their daughter's sake but also for her. What if he doesn't want her anymore?

And then, there is no distance between their hands anymore and it is Loki who crosses it, stroking the back of her hand with a surprisingly tender touch of his fingertips.

"As long as you will have me.", he answers, his slender digits searching their way to intertwine with hers. His other hand gently lifts her chin to face him. "If you still want me."

The simple idea of her ever growing tired of him makes her smile so widely it hurts her cheeks. Her hand moves on its own and cups his cheek, then snakes around his sinewy neck and she pulls him down to meet her lips.

They kiss ardently, passionately, like only lovers do. The time that has passed has no impact on how much Darcy still longs for him, how happy he still makes her. As they pull apart, she cannot help but smirk like a lunatic at him. He doesn't seem to mind, though.

Frida lets out another cry, apparently unhappy that no-one pays her any attention. Without hesitation, Loki bends over and takes the baby up in his arms as if he had never done anything else, one hand on the baby's back, the other protectively covering her head. Darcy wants to soar at the sight of him holding their daughter.

But she keeps her feet firmly placed on the ground, her hand tenderly caressing the soft cheek of her child, her mouth still twisted into a happy smile.

"Come on, baby girl. Let's go show your dad his new home."


	4. Sight Unseen

**A/N: Hey you guys, long time no see! I here present you the fourth installment of Sculpturs which is an addition to chapter one 'That Last Kiss I'll Cherish'. I intend to make it a trio, so hopefully, in a couple of days, I'll be able to upload the last part. This one is rather short but I needed the bridge to get to the third part which is going to be longer, pinky promise!  
So, without further ado, I present 'Sight Unseen' (title taken from an episode from Charmed)**

* * *

Sometimes all that is needed is a wire and a cuff to make a man born to be king, born to rule and to have power feel like a domesticated wolf on a short leash. A simple defeat, a short capture, a silver shackle and a god was nothing more than a captive.

His head lowered, yet his shoulders still proudly stretched, Loki jumps out of the van and trots behind his older brother like a shadow follows its owner. What an apt description, he thinks and behind the metal gag, he feels the urge to bare his teeth. Words, pure vitriol, dance on his tongue and and just beg to be uttered. Instead, all he can do is bow his head in false shame, his last act of trickery on Midgard for probably a long time.

The men of SHIELD are there, the band of heroes as well, even though their attire is no longer the one of soldiers but of simple men, unshielded. To think he could now attack so easily, to lash out and break their necks and pay them back their insolence if only he was not stripped of his powers... But these thoughts are useless. Just as he currently is.

The Tesseract, bound and controlled as well, somehow a mirror of his own, dangles in Thor's other hand, contained in a box that tames its endless power and confines its magic, ready to be handed back to the Aesir king Odin who took it a long, long time ago.

Thor turns around to say goodbye to his comrades and it gives Loki another spare minute before his departure. It is then it hits her. A scent, too light for a human nose to be caught but it is there, mingled in the smell of earth, water, leaves, wood, men, there is one smell he would always remember. And then he sees her.

Well, half of her. Streaks of rich chestnut hair, curled like the waves of the ocean, long enough to touch the delicate shoulder that molds into the perfect hollow of her collarbone. It sit right above her luscious curves of breasts and waist, ending in a bold hip which grows into a pair of fine legs. He sees only a part of a face, half of the full lips, only one cobalt blue eye, one arched brow and only one side of her straight nose, the rest of her face hidden behind the trunk of the tree.

Darcy.

She has come, he thinks and even though there is a trace of anger in him – he did not want her to come, had not wanted her to come yesterday and even lesser wanted her to be here – his foolish heart hammers like a wild beast.

In his head, he can shed the shackles like a second skin and can run along the line of the river, can cross the wide span of the grass and can reach her in the brink of a second. In this image, he grabs her to him, pulls her into his arms where she belongs and holds her so tightly their edges are blurred, their bodies melt into one single entity, his hands on her waist and in her hair, her perfect nose lined against his pulse, her fingers pressing into the plates of his chest while the drum of her heart thuds against the beat of his own. In his head he can taste those lips one more time, can drink from them one last drop of life.

But only in his head. Here and now, all he can do is stare. Hoping she can see him stare at her.


	5. Finally

**A/N: My lovelies, as promised the third part and the addition to 'That Last Kiss I'll Cherish' and 'Sight Unseen'. I really hope you are going to enjoy this! While I wrote, I had Adele's 'I Can't Make You Love Me' from the concert at Royal Albert Hall on repeat, even though it is not a happy lovesong, it is touching nonetheless.**

**This piece is a little hommage to the final scene of the BBC version of 'Jane Eyre', one of my favourite books and definitely a great movie adaption.**

**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Phoenix Rebel, who was kind enough to post a review to 'Sight Unseen'.**

**As per usual, I'd love to here your honest opinion!**

* * *

The first few days after Loki has been taken back home pass in a drowsy numbness. Darcy catches herself waiting for him to shimmer into her flat as he is wont to, to snuggle into bed next to her, his head buried in her hair, ready to fall asleep with her in his arms. There are moments when she misses him so much it clenches her heart like an iron fist closing around it.

After the first couple of weeks, her waiting ceases and leaves behind only a heavy lump in her guts, reminding her here and there that something important is missing. She keeps recalling the last moment she saw him in the Central Park, hidden behind a tree like a little child, over and over again, wishing to sear the image of him into her brain.

At the beginning, she can still recall every single detail of his beautiful face and body, every little hidden freckle on his pristine skin, every sharp muscle that can tense like a string beneath a bow or the way his lashes are so fine they are barely there. Eventually, it fades.

In her head, she blames herself for letting the memories of him slip away. She accuses herself for not remembering, finds herself scanning her head for his image so hard it hurts in her temples. She knows that somehow she has broken her own promise she made to him, to keep him in her head. The guilt eats her up.

A year passes, then two. She remembers how she spent days crying over him at the simple thought of his punishment. Now time has healed this wound, sloppily, unprofessionally, clumsily. Without a doubt it will leave behind a scar. But it has healed nonetheless.

* * *

The days are getting shorter and shorter, the autumn ready to hand over the world to the cold hands of winter and even in the safe walls of her apartment, Darcy can feel the cool wind tugging and pulling at everything. The lack of light takes its toll on her and she has to bury her face in her pillow to conceal her yawn.

The knock on the door pulls her out of the first sweet moments of slumber and with an angry frown, she stumbles out of her warm bed and trots towards her door, her fingers stretched out to guide her way through the darkness.

She opens the door with one swift movement.

Loki's hands clutch the door frame so tightly his knuckles are white like a bone itself. He is bent towards her, his breath uneven, heavy, his hair disheveled and shaggy like the mane of a feral beast. He looks chased and probably he has been running for the past few years. But his eyes have not changed, not a single bit, still piercing, vibrant and so so green. How could she ever think she would not remember his face, not remember _him_? He is so wonderful it takes her breath away. And the way he stares at her it makes her heart stutter in a maddening rhythm.

She wants to kick him, slap him, hurt him, tear his skin to make him bleed for keeping her waiting for far too long. But there is something urging her to make sure he is real.

Her hands stretch out and touch his high cheekbones beneath his mesmerizing eyes, then glide along his perfect nose and finally find his pale lips that are still slightly parted. She caresses the little dots around his mouth, little nicks that just start to heal. She mentally sees the picture of a thread weaving through his lips like she has seen in one of the books on Norse mythology Erik has brought. She impatiently shoves it aside. There is not of importance any longer. The sensation of his cool skin against hers set her nerves on fire and tingles in her stomach like butterflies, demanding her whole attention.

She would love to say something, anything. Something smart, witty and tender. But somehow, her brain and her tongue won't cooperate.

"Seriously, when was the last time you got a haircut?", she chuckles in a hushed voice as her fingers slick through the uncombed mane.

He answers with a smile that is borderline maniac but soon a laugh full of relief falls from his lips and it is the most enchanting sound Darcy has ever heard.

Suddenly he crushes her to his body and their lips mold into each other in a sloppy, imperfect excuse for a kiss. But it is still as sweet as it could ever be.

He pulls back only to press his forehead against hers, their noses resting against each other.

"I dreamt of you often", he whispers and swallows. "And in the morning you were gone."

She smiles and their lips crush again. Soon, they are tangled in her sheets, a heap of limbs and skin, muffled groans and whispers of love. Her lips seal every single one of the scars and wounds that form an uneven pattern on his body, an attempt to soothe the pain he had to endure. His hands retrace the lines they have once followed on her curves over and over again and reclaim what has always been his.

When they are finished and she lies in his arms, she promises to never be gone ever again.


	6. Echo

**I have no idea where this comes from. I just wanted to relax from my homework, sat down to type a little and this came out, and I have wanted to write a Jötunn-thingy for ages. Unbeta'd, so please bear with me.**

**The song I listened to on repeat: Echo - Mark Johnson/ Dana Kerstein - can be found on youtube. Hauntingly beautiful!**

**Feel free to review, comment, whatsoever. And have a good night!**

**EDIT: Me idiot. 'Echo' is by Dana Kerstein and Mark Johns, not Johnson. Sorry!  
**

* * *

There is no way to describe how this feels. The climax is shattering, relentless, almost painful and yet too good to miss. Loki's breath gets caught in his throat as the moans of his lover turn into mindless exclamations, mostly meaningless words mingled with his name. The satisfaction it gives him to know that this woman, this goddess even though she is of mortal birth, shouts his name in the most sensitive of moments, this satisfaction is more than enough to send him over the edge as well, his face deeply buried in her warm and cozy neck while his hips finish their last strong push. Their fingers are intertwined, their bodies pressed tightly together, every inch of skin touching, chest molding into chest, legs tangled, the creamy shade of her body in contrast to the deep blue of his Jötunn form. They hold each other in a warm embrace that steadies the trembling god and mortal, welcoming them back out of their oblivion.

Loki exhales deeply and places a shaky kiss between the heaving breasts of Darcy Lewis who slowly relaxes her curled muscles as she lays back into the cushions of the prince's bed. Loki smiles and drops his head to rest on her soft chest, his navy skin cold against the heat radiating off her body.

"You seriously rock at sporting the blue thing, you know?", she chuckles, her voice vibrating in his ears. Her eyes dart down on him and cobalt blue meets feverish orange. He stares into to fathomless depths of her eyes. They are guileless, wide open for him to dive right into them. It still send shivers down his spine when her gaze is as peaceful as usual. No fear, no angst, no disgust. To her, he is the one he always is – even when he himself does not feel that way.

He smiles and gives her skin a tender nick. "It is all about finding the right partner.", he answers warmly, an almost painfully true tone to his words.

Darcy's fingers weave into his slick sweaty hair, gently gliding through his silken tresses. Loki closes his eyes and leans into her touch. One of her hands scoots down his neck and circles the little ridges that cover his skin.

"I could lay like this forever", she whispers, almost to herself, and he hums in response, reveling in her sweet scent.

"The idea certainly has its merits", he answers and his lips pull into a little grin.

Darcy pulls his head up for him to meet her gaze. She smiles a smile that nudges his heart and her perfect ruby lips melt into his.

Startled, but pleased nonetheless he leans into her, pulling her into an embrace and lets his hands explore her ivory skin once more, leaving behind an icy trail where his fingertips touch her. It is Darcy who breaks away and lays her head to rest right in the crook of his neck.

"I love you.", she mumbles into his skin and seals it with a soft kiss pressed against his pulse that thrums violently beneath the navy skin.

His hands circle her body but his mouth stays shut. She knows he will not say it back for she knows he does not believe in words. Words, names, titles are easily given – my love, my brother, my son – only to be taken back faster than they were uttered. Especially when one is as different as he is.

Still, she repeats her confession over and over again, day by day, maybe to reassure him, maybe to remind herself, he doesn't quite know. But the way she clings to him, holds him tightly even like this, hints to the truth behind her words and even though he might not believe in words, he does believe in actions. And her actions speak the same language her words do.


	7. Violin String

**A/N: This is what happens when I can't sleep and start to listen to Bach (thank you, shuffle mode!) in order to calm down - only to have the image of a dancing Loki and Darcy. Very little, very unspectacular but I kind of wanted to share. I hope you'll enjoy it!  
**

**EDIT: Thank you to PhoenixRebel, the dress I described is indeed the dress Kat wore to the Emmys 2012 - I was just too stupid to mention it.  
**

* * *

It is a most merry event. Jane Foster of Midgard and Thor Odinson of Asgard step down from the pedestal where the thrones are placed and greeted by loud cheering and applause, the new King and Queen of Asgard bow and start with their traditional dance, soon joined by the other prince and his date.

The citizen of Asgard wonder who it is Prince Loki is accompanied by. Given the fact that this is a celebration marking the merge of two realms, it comes to no surprise that his partner is, as rumour has it, indeed another mortal woman. And a beauty she is, too.

The corset of her deep red dress clings to her body like a desperate lover while the deep crimson contrasts with her light skin. Her dark curls shield her bare shoulders and her plush lips are in the colour of scarlet silk, curling with her every smile.

Who is she?, they wonder. Surely she is royalty, they assume. Someone of higher birth, someone who is fit to stand by the dark prince, someone who compliments his own rank and meets his high expectations of a woman with wit, grace and charm.

Their dance is different from the shy and sweet rounds of the newly crowned on the polished floor. Loki's hand guides his partner with wayward movement, almost passionate, and her wide smile is mirrored in the wicked grin that spreads across the prince's face. He turns her luscious body, spins her to his will only to pull her right back into his arms. Their laughter is music to the audience's ears. It has been far too long that the prince has been seen so merry.

On the dancefloor, Loki tugs Darcy back into a strong embrace and pulls her along for another round.

"You make me dizzy...!" She whispers and another chuckle vibrates in her throat.

"It is my intention." The trickster confides and his hand on her waist slips a little further down her back, almost too low and yet not low enough for her. A trail of heat follows his touch and suddenly she wishes it was time to retreat to the chambers.

"Believe me," She smiles. "You succeed."


	8. Soap and Glory

**A/N: _I can't get no sleep... _And this is what happens when I just can't drift off to the land of dreams. Unbeta'd, fair warning! Reviews are always appreciated!**

**Soundtrack: Muse - Feeling Good**

* * *

How calming the simple combination of water, heat and soap can be, Darcy muses as she dips her pinky toe into the warm, rosy scented liquid. Perfect. She discards her towel, ties up her hair in a bun and sinks down into the inviting warmth. Her head finds rest on the back of the tub and with a soft sigh she sinks deeper and lets the mixture of oils and heat release the tension of her tired muscles.

Time fades into a blur and the steam coats her hair and her skin with a velvety sheen. She takes the little sponge from the shelf into her hand, soaks it with water and drags it up and down her left arm, gently massaging the sensitive skin in the crook of her elbow. The lather takes away the dirt, the stress and the whirling thoughts of work and stress that tend to buzz inside her head. Another deep sigh escapes her lips and she makes a mental note of doing this much more often.

Suddenly, she stops in her motion and bends her head a little bit. Then, a gentle smile tugs up the corners of her mouth. Try as he may, he cannot hide.

"Like what you see?" she asks into the void of her bathroom. "Seems like a girl can never have any privacy."

A deep chuckle responds but there is still no-one to be seen.

Darcy huffs and turns her head uncomfortably to spot her invisible watcher.

She rolls her eyes. "Do you mind? I am trying to get some well-deserved peace here!"

Loki's signature smirk is almost audible even though he is still cloaked in his hiding magic. "I was not under the impression that I would serve as a distraction…"

Hidden fingertips gently trace down her neck, follow a few drops that glide down her collarbone and then proceed, only stop right at the surface of the water, just an inch away from her breasts.

She swallows and ignores the fact that her stomach does little flips with excitement. "Yeah, totally not distracting…" she mutters with mock indignation and her lids flutter shut.

Something that oddly feels like the tip of his sharp nose draws a line down the shell of her ear to her cheek, then along her jaw line in an almost maddeningly slow speed. His touch is so light it is barely there, yet strong enough to be irritatingly tantalizing.

Again, her insides jiggle and heat dances through her veins to light up her cheeks – and it has nothing to do with the hot water she is surrounded by.

"Loki…!" she admonishes half-heartedly.

"Yes, dear?" His voice is pure innocence with a tinge of naughtiness.

At the other end of the tub, right above her feet, the water makes waves like something protrudes the surface and dips into the tub. And then, there it is again, a stroke around her ankle, then bobs up and down her calf only to proceed to her upper thigh with a light scratch, like a nail tracing the inside of her legs, almost faint enough to just be a slight tingle and yet steady, so steady and shifting upwards, so determined it makes her heartbeat plummet and her breath hitch and her hands clutch at the walls of the tub –

And then it stops. "But you are right. I shall leave you at peace."

Out of the blue, he is gone and his able fingers as well. And Darcy is left behind, horny and huffy.

"You have got to be kidding!" she yells after him.

But the bathroom is as silent as before, the air stiff with steam, no sound but the faint beating of the waves as Darcy drops back her head and rubs her legs together.

"Goddamn tease." She murmurs and tries to relax again. But somehow, her body just won't cooperate.


	9. Trick Me Once

**A/N: Homework got too boring and I wanted to write something like this for ages. **

**Soundtrack? Tom Law 'If I Ever Lost You', awesome good-mood song with a nice rhythm.**

**I'd love to read your reviews!**

* * *

Evening shift. A nicer word for six freaking hours of boredom.

Work for SHIELD, they said. It will be a well-paid piece of cake, they said. Who'd have known he'd be stuck with working through the nights again.

His glance darted to the prisoner in the round glass cell. An important man, apparently, given he was locked behind almost two inches of glass, a security system that required three keys to shut down and watched by several cameras. Their black lenses stared down at the two men in the basement like omniscient, patient eyes.

The guard scratched his chin and suddenly felt very self-conscious. Better make a good impression.

"And don't you be trying anything funny, yeah?" he bellowed over to the pale figure all dressed in black and green. His words seemed to leave the man inside the cell untouched. The prisoner with the medieval leather outfit was sitting on the metal bench attached to the glass and kept on staring at the opposite wall, his gaze vacant, his chin held high with pride.

A low beep announced another person entering and with clacking black high heels, a young brunette in a deep navy trench coat entered the room, her hips swaying with every step like a pendulum, her lips in a matte red shade curling around a sugary sweet smile. The belt around her waist highlighted her hourglass figure, her long legs bare beneath the fabric of her coat and the waves of her long hair bouncing with her every movement.

"Darcy!" The man's face lit up with unhidden delight. "Shouldn't you be out heading home by now?"

The young woman moved with long strides towards the guard, in her hand a take-away cup with a green emblem, and her smile grew impossibly wider.

She bent over to put her hand on the man's shoulder with a playfully light touch. "Well, sweetie, I was but then I heard they gave you the graveyard shift again!" Her voice dropped with indignation. "And then I knew I had to come and see you before I left! Plus, I brought something to keep your morale up as well." she added with a flirty twinkle and carefully shook the plastic cup.

The already reddened cheeks of the older man deepened with crimson. "Honey, you are too good to be true!" he replied and answered her wide smile. "But really, you shouldn't have…"

He appreciating look he gave her whole outfit betrayed his false comment and went down from her chest to the pale skin of her legs.

A girly chuckle left Darcy's velvet lips and she handed over the beverage. "I know, but I wanted to. There you go, gorgeous."

"Thanks, Honey." With an eager face, the guard took a deep sip of the hot liquid and a content sigh left his thin lips. He raised his gaze and gave the girl a happy grin.

And then his eyes rolled back into his head and with a thud, the cup dropped out of his limb hand as unconsciousness took over his body.

The fake smile left Darcy's cheeks and she let out an annoyed huff.

"Jesus, is it just me or is he seriously that dense?" She bent over to take the key chain from the unconscious man's belt and strut over to the glass cell.

Loki had not moved from his original place but a wide smirk stretched across his cheeks. Slowly he turned his head and stared at Darcy who was busy typing in numbers into the control unit at the door. The cameras died with a short buzz. With movements that spoke of practice, she slid the card from the chain through the scanner and the doors willingly parted to let her in.

In one fluid movement, Loki gracefully raised from the bench and took in the sight he was presented with.

With almost leisurely slow hands, Darcy undid the belt of her coat and the fabric slid off her shoulders to pool at her feet, revealing a low-cut, tight fitting dress in the colour of soft moss.

Loki's grin grew a side more smug. "You are insidious."

Darcy leant back against the wall. "Didn't hear you complaining." She arched her back and stood straight again. "But, if you'd rather be alone…"

Long, strong fingers gripped her waist before she could even turn and a pair of dry lips pressed against the shell of her ear.

"You wouldn't dare."

The swirl in her stomach began to grow and she leant into his embrace. "Why, Mister Mischief, what's with the rush? Feeling lonely?"

One of his hands found their way into her hair, the other one snug around her back and pulled her even closer.

"Don't think I didn't notice how you touched his shoulder and how that old fool looked at you…" He growled as he stared at her. The glint in his eyes gave away his own impatience.

Darcy grinned at his jealousy. "Too bad for him I'm exclusive." She said and pressed a tender kiss to his prominent jaw.

"How long?" Loki inquired as he nibbled his way down Darcy's neck.

With relish, she closed her eyes. "Might be quite a while – I took the whole bottle this time. I didn't want to stop midway like last time…"

A chuckle vibrated in her lover's throat. "Good girl."


	10. Patience

**A/N: Originally, this was supposed to be a funny, Darcy-ish drabble but kind of turned into a fluffy angsty one. I blame the two characters, as usual.**

**Thank you all so so much for sticking with me in every regard, be it favouring, reviewing, following, whatsoever. You are awesome!**

**Soundtrack? Mika - Any Other World, such a wonderful piece.**

**Enjoy and feel free to review!**

* * *

She doesn't see his face at first. He looks away from her as she pushes the iron gate out of her way and enters the dungeon – freaking Asgard still has real dungeons. Like _real_ dungeons with guards, torches and that awful smell of rust and dirt.

Loki looks even worse than when Thor took him home, now stripped of his armour, his hands in cuffs chained to the wall. At first she thinks this is his punishment, being all alone and caged like a beast.

Then he turns to look at her.

The second she shrieks she regrets it and wishes she'd have more composure or sensibility. But the sight she is presented with makes her want to run back to the castle Thor had led her through, barge in to the throne room and slap the living hell out of Odin.

The thread weaves through his lips in a neat criss-cross pattern and it is its evenness and neatness that sends a shiver down her spine while she imagines the calm and grace with which it was sewn. And how long he had to endure the pain.

Loki's face is a mask of indifference, as usual, but her shock does not go unnoticed. His flinch is almost invisible but it is there and for a short second, his brows knit together in astonishment and anger.

Darcy pulls the gate shut and her eyes behind the glasses need to adjust to the dim light. Her nose scrunches as the scent of mold hits her senses. The closer she gets to him, the more the puzzle of his captivity coalesces. Flecks of dried blood stain the white of his skin along his neck and chin and his hair looks like a dirty mop styled by dried sweat and a lack of water and soap.

What is she supposed to say? There is not a single word that would ease his pain, loosen his restraints or make him feel any less violated in his hateful solitude. He doesn't need to speak to make her realize that she is not welcome here. He is and has always been a fan of quiet despair. His hunched shoulders and the hands balled into fists speak volumes.

"I didn't want you to be alone."

Silence doesn't go well with her. She moves towards the ragged figure in the far corner and kneels down next to him. The second her knee grazes his legs, he glides away from her and his head snaps to shoot violent and despiteful glances at her.

"Loki, I…"

His lips curl in an attempt of his signature snarl but the second the thin muscles move, he recoils and howls like a wounded animal. His eyes slam shut and his carefully constructed act crumbles beneath the sudden pain. His hands shoot up to touch his lips but the more he moves and the more his face contorts with the strain, the deeper his cries get.

In that single second, her heart breaks for him and her hands clasp his in an attempt to keep him from scratching himself until he bleeds.

"No, no, please…" she hushes and takes hold of his hands against his weak defense. "You need to relax, you'll only make it worse!"

The sinews beneath the skin of his neck flex and coil as he presses his back against the wall for support and the water almost springs from his eyes – with pain, with rage? She doesn't know and in the end, it would make no difference.

Darcy raises her hand and her fingers test the skin on his neck, easing around the tensed band of muscles as she meets no resistance from him. Softly, not to cause him any more pain, she pulls at his head until he gives in and lowers to rest his weary head atop her thighs, careful not to pull at the seams.

She feels the wetness on her thighs and at first she thinks it is his blood again. But as his shoulders twitch and his face presses deeper into her supple leg, she suddenly knows and decides to ignore his oppressed sobs.

Darcy swallows and shoves aside the sting in the corners of her eyes. Her fingers start to smooth and gently detangle the felted tendrils of his usually shiny black hair. With every stroke of hers and with every rise and fall of his chest the tension leaves his shoulders and vanishes from his limbs.

"It's okay…", she murmurs and smiles through the tears that she now allows to crawl over her face and drop into the mass of ink-black hair.

_I love you,_ she wants to whisper. But this is not the time nor it is the place.

The right moment will come, she knows. If anything, love is patient. And so is she.


	11. The Devil You Know

**A/N: Did I ever mention how awesome you all are? Even if I did, this needs to be said again.**

**Thank you all so so much for your continuing support, your patience, your comments, everything!**

**Now onto this piece, a little angsty with a side of guilt. I hope you'll enjoy!**

* * *

Her purse is the first thing to be dropped the second she enters her apartment. Then her keys are discarded into the bowl on the shelf right next to her door, her coat finds its place on the hanger by the door – the usual routine.

The heels of her shoes accompany her way to the bathroom with muffled clacks against the carpet and her hand absentmindedly flicks the switch to fill the room with dull, muted neon light.

Her reflection stares at her tiredly from black eyeliner eyes, the rosy lips slightly parted in an exhausted expression.

* * *

_The crowd moves along behind the coffin, silent, their steps softened by the gravel of the path. Jane clutches Darcy arm tightly, a used handkerchief in her right hand._

"_I still cannot believe this," Jane snivels and wipes her cheeks. "I mean... we will never see him again, will we? I know we only met him once but he was so helpful afterwards, how he granted us access and kept in touch to keep us updated."_

_All Darcy can do is nod._

* * *

Her hand raises and starts to remove the bobby pins from her hair do, the soft bun falling apart piece by piece until all that is left is a mass of tangled brown locks with an obvious bend.

She moves like she is in trance. With even moves, the wide-toothed comb pulls at the little knots and curls and leaves behind a curtain of silky chocolate. She removes her earrings, her watch and washes her hands.

As she puts back the fluffy towel, a quiet crunching pulls her from her musing and she buries her hand in the pocket of her simple black dress.

It is the invitation she had been given three days ago, the formal invite to attend the funeral.

_Phillip Coulson. 1962 – 2012._

* * *

"_It is all _his _fault", Jane whispers as they return to their car, accompanied by several other grieving friends and acquaintances of Agent Coulson._

_Darcy remains silent._

"_I hope they'll find him", Jane adds. "I know it is silly, I know he did things far worse – but I want him to be brought to justice, even if it just for Phil Coulson. He did not deserve to die like this. Loki tricked him, didn't even have the guts to face him properly. Such cowardice should never go unpunished."_

* * *

The sob bursts through her lips against her will and the paper drops out of her loose hands. Her reflection blurs out at the edges as the tears stream down her face and wash away the meagre mascara and khol liner.

Darcy clutches her face in her hands and her shoulder hunch with the force of her cries.

Jane will never forgive her.

* * *

"_I mean, it is no wonder he needs to use magic on people to help him and to work for him!"_

* * *

The sink is painted with dark grey streaks of tears and Darcy's hands move from her face to clasp the edge of the sink in order to keep her on her shaking legs and feet. In a breath between her weeps she stares at herself again, at the snivelling mess that is left of a woman once proud and honourable, a woman who now betrays the faith her friends and co-workers put in her.

* * *

"_I can't understand why we can't find him. And I doubt he has help. Who could ever help _him_? Who could ever _care _for someone like him?!"_

* * *

She feels him behind her before he can even speak or move. Long fingers wind around her waist and pull her back against a narrow chest.

She closes her eyes and leans into Loki's arms who presses her to his body, holding her silently as another cascade of sobs rushes through her.

She is sure he knows what happened today and yet she is eternally thankful that he does not try to calm or to reason with her.

But Jane is right, isn't she? How could anyone be so cruel, so double-faced as to support a murderer? Guilt pools in her stomach like ice and her shallow breathing tumbles back into uneven hitches.

"If... if she ever finds out...," Darcy stutters through her trembling lips and her eyes focus on Loki's stoic face in the mirror who hushes her with low words.

For a while, both of them remain silent and Loki's eyes rest on her face, his gaze vacant with thought while his fingers run up and down her arms in a comforting motion, tracing patterns and circles.

"Do you hate me?" he suddenly asks and Darcy's head shoots up.

She turns to face him and her hands disengage from his hold to cling to his pale neck, her thumbs nestling one the soft spot of skin just beneath his ears.

"I don't think I ever could," she answers honestly and as sad as it is, it is the utter truth. It basically sums up her whole dilemma.

But sometimes she wishes she could. It would make everything so much easier for her.

Darcy closes her eyes and rests her cheek against his chest, his hold her sole support, his scent a soothing balm on her troubled senses.

But maybe this time, there is no easy way out.


End file.
